A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue
by chaletian
Summary: Margaret is one slammed door away from blanketing the White House in salt, the press won't let it go, and Josh and Donna are trying to work out the best way to exorcise the building! What I do not need is the President getting in on the act! Sir! TWW/SPN
1. Chapter 1

A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue

**A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue**

**By Liss Webster**

**Part One**

"CJ!"

"CJ!"

CJ Cregg, the White House Press Secretary, ruthlessly quashed the giant, exasperated sigh she longed to heave. They had covered the decision to impose trade sanctions on a troublesome Balkan state, the passage of an appropriations bill, and the menu of an upcoming state dinner. Shy of Josh having precipitated some new disaster of which she was still blissfully ignorant, there was only one more place for this press briefing to go. She pointed at a reporter, and took a deep breath.

"Yes, Steve."

"CJ, does the White House have any comment on the sudden spate of so-called accidents happening throughout the West Wing?"

"Steve, they are 'so-called' accidents because they are, wait for it, _accidents_. We have investigated each incident carefully, and are satisfied beyond any doubt that they are merely, as the name suggests, accidental."

"Doesn't it seem a little too coincidental that in the past couple of months, six White House staff members have been injured?"

"Steve, are you suggesting that there is a conspiracy afoot to destroy the Executive Office of the President – on a person by person basis?"

"CJ…"

"I mean, I know if these incidents had been happening to members of the press corps, I sure wouldn't want anyone searching _my_ gym locker. C'mon, guys. They're accidents. We're bringing in Health & Safety to carefully go over the building and make sure we're taking all measures we can to prevent any of these incidents recurring. And that's all for now. This show'll be back in town at two." With that, she strode off the podium and out the back of the room, to be met by her assistant.

"Leo wants to see senior staff in his office." Carol removed the press folder CJ was carrying, and handed over another pile of papers as they made their way to CJ's office.

"OK."

"And you had three calls from Todd."

"OK."

"CJ?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's Todd?" CJ raised an eyebrow, plucked another file from Carol's arms, smiled, and went on her way. Her way, unsurprisingly, coincided with that of Joshua Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff.

"So, Donna says the White House is haunted."

"Donna's been listening to the press too much."

"I think she might be right."

"Josh, the White House is not haunted. You know why?"

"Because there's no such thing as ghosts?"

"Because there's no such thing as ghosts."

"I hear that a lot."

"That's because it's true."

"Scientific studies have shown that there might be evidence to support the existence of phantasmal entities."

"Phantasmal entities?"

"Ghosts."

"The White House isn't haunted, Josh." They reached Leo's office, and Margaret nodded them in. Leo sat in state behind his desk; Toby and Sam around the table. Leo looked enquiringly at the newcomers, and the heavy wooden door slammed behind them with a deep, ominous thunder. CJ looked warily behind her, pressed her hand to her eyes, and sighed.

"Guys, I think the White House is haunted."

. . .

A few hundred miles away, in a cheap and fairly nasty motel room, Dean and Sam Winchester were looking for their next job, each in his own favoured method. For Sam, this meant internet research. Sam had google-fu, and he knew how to use it. For Dean, it was the Weekly World News. Hey, it had pictures of alien babies. What more could you need? He was leafing carefully through when an article caught his eye. He read on, fascinated.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I think there might be a banshee in Wilmington. Wanna check it out?"

"Huh?"

"Local newspapers report… Dean? Are you listening?"

"Huh?" Sam sighed, and rolled his eyes. He loved his brother. Yes, he truly did. But no-one could deny that Dean Winchester was occasionally a burden too heavy for even the best brother to bear.

"Dean!"

"We need to go to Washington."

"State?"

Dean looked up from his newspaper, and grinned. "D.C."

"Okay. And we need to go, why?"

Dean's grin only grew wider as he flourished the article that had so entranced him. "Cuz the White House is haunted, and it's our duty as citizens to save the President." Sam looked at him. Dean looked back, then consulted the paper again. "Also, the First Lady just gave birth to alien triplets, and I would pay good money to see that."


	2. Chapter 2

A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue

**A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue**

**By Liss Webster**

**Part Two**

"Anyway, we did some research, and it seems like the best way to deal with it is salt."

"Salt?"

"Yes. At first we thought garlic, but it turns out that really is just for vampires, and it sounds like it doesn't do much good even then."

"Margaret…"

"So we were thinking, maybe if we could just scatter some salt around…"

"Margaret!"

"Yes, Leo?"

"We are not scattering salt around the White House. Because the White House is NOT HAUNTED." Leo's voice had risen until by the end he was shouting, and everyone watched as two paintings hanging on the corridor wall behind him fell to the floor. Margaret's lips tightened.

"I'm going to find out more about that salt."

_tww:spn:tww:spn:tww_

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," grumbled Sam, as he juggled various pieces of paper in his lap.

"C'mon, Sammy, you've been dying to visit Washington your entire life."

"That's not true."

"Sixth grade. We were living in Maryland. Your class went on a field trip to Washington. You had mumps. You complained for about three years."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Sam, we had to physically tie you to your bed."

"So I wanted to go on a field trip."

"Sophomore year."

"Aw, c'mon, man!"

Dean was relentless. "Your debate team was supposed to go to some geekfest…"

"Debating competition."

"…and we had to go track down that werewolf in New Mexico. You bitched for _months_ about that one."

"OK, you know what, Dean? Yes, I've always wanted to visit Washington. It's the heart of our country! Its history… I mean, man!" He broke off, shaking his head. Dean grinned.

"See? You're gonna love it. Maybe we can get in a bit of sightseeing. Y'know, the Liberty Bell, that kind of thing."

"Dean!"

"What?"

"The Liberty Bell is in Philadelphia."

Dean flapped a hand, unconcerned with the details. "Whatever. It'll be great." They drove on, AC/DC blaring over the Impala's speakers. The miles flew by until they were nearing the Washington Beltway.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Do we have a plan?"

Dean looked over, an eyebrow raised. "A plan? Dude, we do this stuff all the time."

Sam's expression was the epitome of patience. "Yeah, Dean, but this is the _White House_. I mean, it's not like we can wander in and pretend to be, y'know, electricians or insurance agents or something."

Dean shrugged. "So we're from Homeland Security."

Sam nodded consideringly. "Yeah, we could do that. If we want to spend the _rest of our lives in jail_! Dean, seriously, this is the White House. We're gonna need a plan."

_tww:spn:tww:spn:tww_

"So, what are we going to do?" asked Josh, lolling on CJ's sofa.

"Margaret thinks salt," said Sam. "She was pretty intense."

Josh nodded. "Donna thinks salt, too. She's been researching on the internet."

"Have you all gone insane?" They looked up at Toby, standing in door, a look of disbelief on his face. Sam shrugged.

"It's hard to argue with the evidence, Toby."

"Evidence? What evidence? I can't believe you two are going along with this!" Toby's irritation was impressive in its depth, and Josh and Sam exchanged glances.

"Toby," began Sam carefully, "you _have_ noticed what's been going on around here, haven't you? Eight people have been injured now…"

"They're _accidents_!" retorted Toby. "CJ said it herself."

"…Doors are slamming for no reason…"

"There are draughts around this building!"

"…Paintings falling off walls…"

"They were hung badly! You should be talking to Bernard and his people, not trying to play ghostbusters!"

"Toby…"

"GUYS!" CJ looked up from her desk, rubbing her temples. "Is it too much to ask you to do this in your own offices? I'm actually trying to do my job here, and having the Three Stooges in with me rarely helps."

"Actually, CJ, the Three Stooges…" CJ pinned Josh with a glare, and he stopped talking and sidled towards the door. "OK. We're gone." The three men left the office, still arguing vociferously. CJ heaved a sign and looked skywards – or, at any rate, ceilingwards.

"OK, Ghostie. You want to haunt this place, knock yourself out. As long as you go for those three, I'm in your corner."

"We heard that, CJ!" Josh's voice floated back down the corridor.

"Please. Falling masonry. Levitating statues. Whatever it takes. I can pretty much promise good press."


	3. Chapter 3

A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue

**A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue**

**By Liss Webster**

**Part Three**

"This is the East Room, which was renovated by President Roosevelt in 1902." As the guide continued her lecture, Dean shifted uncomfortably next to Sam.

"Dude, I feel totally naked."

"There's no way you could bring your entire _armoury_ in here, Dean," Sam whispered back.

"What if something happens?"

"On the tour?"

"Yeah."

"What would you do anyway? It's not like nobody would notice if you started brandishing a shotgun."

"Well, I'd feel better."

"Dean, we're just taking a look around."

"And we're walking…" The tour moved on. Dean continued to look uncomfortable. Sam hoped the Secret Service agents posted visibly in various parts of the building wouldn't get the wrong idea. Or, y'know, the right idea.

_tww:spn:tww:spn:tww_

"Charlie."

"Yes, Mr President?"

"Did you know that there is a pamphlet, written in 1698, about an 'infernal spirit' afflicting the family of one George Walton of New Hampshire?"

"No, I didn't, Mr President." Jed Bartlet nodded.

"Well, there is. It's in the British Library. It's entitled 'Lithobolia'. Know what that means?"

"I feel sure you're about to tell me, Mr President."

"Yes I am, Charlie. Do you know why I'm about to tell you?"

"Because knowledge broadens the mind?"

"Exactly. Lithobolia means stone-throwing devil."

"That's a piece of information I could not have lived without, Mr President."

"You know, Charlie, you're getting remarkably sarcastic in your old age. You should try and do something about that."

"Yes, sir."

There was a sharp tap on the door connecting the Oval Office to the Chief of Staff's office, and it opened to reveal Leo McGarry.

"Good morning, Mr President. Charlie."

"Good morning, Leo," returned the President, seating himself behind the desk. Charlie began unpacking the heavy briefcase used to transfer paperwork from the West Wing to the Residence.

"Morning, Leo. The President was just telling me about a pamphlet entitled Lithobolia."

"Litho… what?"

"It means stone-throwing devil." Leo sighed and raised his hands in despair.

"Mr President!"

"Yes?" asked President Bartlet innocently, watching his Chief of Staff with interest.

"Please don't tell me you're giving any credence to these ridiculous rumours!"

"Well…"

"Because Margaret is one slammed door away from carpeting the entire White House in salt. CJ has apparently been making deals with this 'ghost', the press won't let it go, Toby and Sam have been arguing about it for _days_ and Josh and Donna have been debating the best way to _exorcise_ the building. What I do _not_ need at this stage is the President getting in on the act! Sir," he added, belatedly.

"Leo…" He was interrupted by the appearance in the doorway of Josh, his face uncharacteristically serious.

"Sir, Leo." The President gestured him in.

"What is it, Josh?"

"Part of the ceiling collapsed in the Roosevelt Room. A couple of people were injured, and... Sir, Terry Hunt from the OMB is dead."


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

"This has got to stop," said President Bartlet, his voice grave. "We've had – what's it been – ten injuries now?"

"Yes, Mr President," confirmed CJ. "Four housekeeping staff, one junior aide from the Vice President's Office, a secretary from Counsel, two of the gardeners and two people from OMB. And Terry Hunt. Until yesterday, all the accidents had been fairly minor."

"And why haven't we done a damn thing about this?" His voice rose, and Leo leaned forward.

"Sir, we've done everything we could."

"Well, it's not enough!"

"They're accidents, Mr President," said Josh, joining the fray. "After Mark from the Vice President's Office was hurt, we contacted Treasury, but they didn't find anything that suggested these were deliberate."

"And Health & Safety came round," added CJ. "They made a few suggestions, and we've conformed with them, but it doesn't seem to have stopped anything."

"And the ceiling in the Roosevelt Room. You're telling me that was an accident as well?"

"Sir, that ceiling was perfectly sound. You know we have conservationists and the facilities department keep an eye on the building. They haven't found any problems."

"Then why the hell did it fall down?" The President was faced with a series of blank faces, and he sighed, deflated. "We can't carry on like this. I don't like to suggest this, but are we absolutely sure that there is no human involvement? We're the Government of the United States. We sit here in one of the most famous buildings in the world. We have a pretty big bullseye painted on our asses."

"I'll have Ron Butterfield look into it again," promised Leo.

"Could be the ghost," suggested Josh with a grin. A grin that disappeared as the others looked at him. "What? It was a joke."

Leo looked around at the senior staff gathered in the Oval Office. "I think we can agree that it's not a ghost."

oOo

"Okay, so the White House is definitely haunted," said Sam, looking up from his laptop.

"Ya think?" said Dean absently, his gaze fastened on the television.

"Yeah, I've found… Dean, what are you watching?"

"C-SPAN."

"You're kidding me."

"And I'm confused."

"I'm amazed."

"No, seriously, dude. I mean, this is the Senate, right?" Sam swivelled round in his chair so he could see the screen more clearly.

"Yeah. So?"

"OK, this guy has been talking for a coupla hours now."

"It's a debate, Dean. It's kinda what they do in the Senate."

"Yeah, but he's on some weird tangent about underwear. He's been going pretty strong for a while now."

"On underwear?"

"Yeah. Is that normal?" Sam looked in disbelief at his brother, sprawled across one of the twin beds.

"Dean!"

"What?"

"You choose _now_ to become interested in the process of national politics?" Dean shrugged.

"Hey, when in Rome. Or, y'know, Washington. Anyway, whatcha got?" Sam turned the laptop so Dean could see the site he had found.

"Did you know there used to be a swimming pool in the White House?"

"No."

"Well, there did. They built it for FDR."

"So?"

"Nixon had it covered over in '69. It was turned into offices for the press corps and stuff"

"And I say again, so?"

"A few months ago, there were signs of subsidence in the press briefing room, so they dug the whole thing up and started again. Right around the time these accidents started happening."

"Did they now?"

"They did indeed."

"Sammy, I think you're on to something."

"Yeah, but Dean, we still have no way to get into the building." Sam ran a hand through his hair, and consulted the plethora of paper strewn across the rickety table provided by the motel. "They've just got too much security." Dean gazed off to one side, his expression thoughtful. "Dean?"

"There've been a lot of accidents, right?"

"Yeah. Um, Jeannette Armstrong, on the Housekeeping staff, Mark Wright from John Hoynes' office, Elizabeth Simpson from…"

"Yeah, them. And then that guy died yesterday."

"Uh, Terry Hunt, yeah."

"And I've been watching this station for about fifty hours, and the other guys are riding 'em pretty hard about it – the White House not being safe, the President not even able to take care of his own staff, let alone America, that kind of thing."

"So?"

"So I reckon they already know there's a problem."

"I would think so." Sam nodded. It was, after all, inconceivable that they hadn't noticed.

"I think we should go and tell them we have the solution."


	5. Chapter 5

**A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue**

**Part V**

**by Liss Webster**

"Donna, I'm not going to talk to you about the ghost."

"This isn't about that."

"This isn't about the ghost?"

"It's not about the ghost."

"Because Leo was pretty firm on that point. No more talking about the ghost, or hauntings or, y'know, any of that stuff."

"It's not about the ghost."

"OK. What is it?"

"Why is the entire senior staff refusing to accept that the White House is haunted?"

"Donna!"

"What?"

"The White House is NOT HAUNTED!"

"Well, so you say."

"Yes. I do. And you know why I say that?"

"Because you're an idiot?"

"Because I'm _right_! Jeez, Donna, you can't take this ghost idea seriously!"

"Yes I can, Josh! Because there's some really weird stuff going on, and I think that a ghost is the best explanation."

Josh groaned, exasperated, and scrubbed both hands through his hair. "Donna!"

"What?"

"I…" He looked down at her stubborn face, and grinned. "Never mind. What have you got for me?" She glared at him through narrowed eyes, and then slapped a post-it note on his chest.

"Exterminators in the Mural Room." With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off in the opposite direction.

"Exterminators?" he yelled after her.

"The Mural Room, Josh," she yelled back, without missing a step. He sighed, retrieved the post-it note from his lapel, and headed for the Mural Room. Never let it be said that he didn't obey Donnatella Moss in all things.

. . .

"You know there's a very good chance of our getting committed, right?" Sam fidgeted nervously with his cuffs. Dean shrugged.

"What's the worst that can happen – they kick us out?"

"Well, I think I already mentioned a worse option. And there's always the part where they can just arrest us."

"Dude, will you chill out before you have a coronary? Look, you talked to your guy, right? And he knew who to talk to?"

Sam nodded, slightly reassured. "Yeah. That is, I said that all these haunting rumours were weird, and he said that the person to talk to was the Deputy Chief of Staff's assistant, and I talked to her and she said we should come in. Although, that may have been a ploy."

"A ploy? What the fuck?"

Sam started pacing anxiously again. "You know, a ploy. A ruse. To capture us."

Dean looked across at his brother, and sighed. "Sam, you clearly had one very disturbed childhood."

Sam stopped dead, his face a picture of disbelief. "Well, _yeah_!"

Before Dean could reply, the door to the room swung open, and a man entered, intently reading a post-it note in his hand.

"Hi," said Dean, standing a little taller in his FBI/US Marshalls/Homeland Security/insurance adjustors suit.

"Uh, hi," said the man, consulting his post-it note again. "You're the Winchesters?"

"I'm Dean. This is my brother, Sam." Dean held out his hand.

"Joshua Lyman, Deputy Chief of Staff. My assistant said we had a meeting?" He shook both their hands, and gestured for them to sit down. Dean and Sam perched on the end of the ornate sofas as Josh Lyman looked expectantly at them.

"A friend of mine is an intern with Congressman Hammond," explained Sam. "He suggested that you were the people to talk to."

"Talk to us about what?"

"Uh," Sam looked desperately at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes.

"It's about your ghost."

"Our… did Donna put you up to this?"

"Mr Lyman…"

"I swear, she doesn't know when to LET. IT. GO!" This last was shouted out of the doorway. "Are you going to tell me that I need to scatter the place with salt and sing Hail Marys?" Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

"Well, the salt might not be such a bad idea," said Dean, shrugging.

"Dean, right?"

"Yeah."

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but what is _wrong_ with you people? The White House is _not_ haunted! We do not have a _ghost_! What we have is people being hurt and people being _killed_! And anyone trying to take advantage of that is…"

"Mr Lyman," interrupted Dean, standing up. "I'm completely serious. And I know how this sounds, but you have to listen to us, because we know what we're talking about."

"We don't have a ghost."

"Absolutely. I hear you."

"We do _not_ have a ghost."

"And that's all true, apart from the part where you have a ghost."

Josh Lyman sat down suddenly on the opposite sofa, as if his strings had been cut. "Aw, hell."

"Yeah," said Sam feelingly.

"How do we spin _this_?"


End file.
